




























,^0 







%h ^«a-^hart 



of liofemm 




JAMES LAW 



^be Sea*5bore ot Bobentia 



' i. kyCrr 



ZEbe ITtue Sbakeepeate 



2>ramaticallg portva^eD 



WITH AN APPENDIX ON 



Sbaftespeave's ©loves. 



JAMES LAW 

Author of "Dreams o' Hame," "Columbia-Caledonia," and other 
Scottish and American Poems. 



Not without right did he appear 
Amongst the human race, 

Foreverniore to sJiak' hh sf>cif 
111 Doubt's protesting face ! 



IMPRINTED FOR THK AUTHOR BY 

THE NEW ERA PRINTING COMPANY 
Lancaster, Pennsylvania 

UNITED states OF AMERICA 

1900 



1 



71^ 3-1 ^^ 
.L 3 



5459 



Copyrighted 1900 )iy 

JAMES D. LAW. 

All Eiglits Reserved. 



ibr^ry of Conp-*,,] 

■•wo Coetfs Rfcen-fo 
•OCT 1 1900 

S£ce^•o copy, 

Uellvtrad to 

OKOC« DtVlSlON. 

OCT 22 ISOO 



Of fids edition there were made one hundred and eleve 
copies, and the type then distributed. 



This book, -JVumber ./ ,is p7-esented vnth the Com- 

jtliments of the Author, 




o^ 



A FEW EPISODES 



SHAKESPEARE'S LIFE 

DRAMATICALLY 

PORTRAYED 



'Our whole Life is like a Play." 

BEN JONSON. 



'The Play's the thing! " 

SHAKESPEARE. 



PREFACE. 



The following Corivposition ifbokes no pretence to he any- 
thing more than a few Conversational Episodes in the Lfe 
of William Shakespeare. Without consulting either pub- 
lisher or manager the Writer has had his manuscript 
p)rinted after his own fancy and for reasons that are his 
own and need not be noted here. He is not ignorant of 
the vast output of unacted "plays," good, bad and in- 
different ; hopjeless, useless and pitiful : he also knows 
that the best and most sicccessful pens have not escaped 
censure; so, 'with neither high hopes nor great ferns for his 
little venture, should it ever be seen by the general pidj- 
lic or come luithin the range of the particular critic, the 
Author trusts that Jiis friendly readers may find the book 
sufficiently interesting to he perused, and not univorthy oj 
preservation. 

Lancaster, Pa., U. S. A., 
September W, 1900. 



Poet-Contemporaries of Shakespeare. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

William Shakespeare. 

Ben Jonson. 

Francis (Lord) Bacon. 

James Burbage, Theatrical Manager. 

Richard Field, Printer and Publisher. 

Thomas Greene, Lawyer, and Cousin of Shakespeare. 

William Combe, Stratford Citizen, Money Lender, etc. 

John Combe, Brother of William C. 

Henry Walker, Alderman of Stratford. 

Francis Collins, Shakespeare's Solicitor. 

Dr. John Hall, Shakespeare's Son-inJaw. 

Michael Drayton, 1 

George Chapman, 

Robert Greene, 

Thomas Nash, J 

Henry Chettle, Publisher. 

Laurence Fletcher, 1 

John Heming, > Actors and Colleagues of Shakespeare. 

Henry Condell, J 

King James. 

Wm. Drummond, Poet, Laird of Hawthornden. 

Sir Wm. Alexander (afterwards Lord Stirling), Scottish Poet, 

Johnny Fergusson, King's Scotch confidant and companion. 

James Law, Scottish Rustic Bard. 

John Taylor, "The Water Poet." 

Lord Pembroke. 

Lord Southampton. 

Sir Walter Raleigh. 

Henry Hudson, the Explorer. 

John Smith, of " Pocahontas" fame. 



Queen Elizabeth. 

Anne Hathaway (Mrs. Shakespeare). 

Mary Fitton (Queen's Maid of Honor). 

^ ' _ ' [^ Shakespeare's daughters. 

Judith Shakespeare, J 

Courtiers, Players, Servants, etc. 



The Sea- Shore of Bohemia. 



ACT I. Scene l.—Shottery. 

The Lovers' Meeting — Wm. Shakespeare and Awne Hathaway. 

W. S. [sitting on stile'], soliloquizing : 
How sweet the air, how silent and how cool ! 
It seems the rain has wash'd the welkin clean. 
How softly smiles fair Luna in the pool ! 
The woods, the grass, — they shine so freshly green ! 
As on its axis it revolves in space 
And dons its azure, starry spangled robe 
So brightly flecked with filmy silver lace 
I almost fancy I can hear the globe 
Throbbing responsive to the distant sway 
Which holds the planets in their destined course, 
The Law of Nature they must all obey, 
The mystic energy, — the primal force. 
Unknown, unknowable, till mortals here 
Evolve the secret of our earthly sphere ! 

A footfall ! — light as down upon the breeze 
I know it well, — 

[Enter A. if.] 

Heart's welcome, Mistress dear, — 
I've waited long and had begun to fear — 

A. H. Sweet William Shakespeare, how you love to tease ! 
My sister, jealous of our coming banns, — 
My mother scolding at my tardy choice, — 
My brother jeering at my future plans, — 



2 THE RUSTIC SONG. 

My father fearful of the dues to pay, — 
They all conspired, as with a single voice, 
To keep me from you, till I broke away, — 
But here I am, to meet whom I adore 
Would suffer martyrdom twice ten times more ! 

W. S. Hast met him now or go you farther on? 
You speak in riddles that are hard to con. 

A. H. Sweet William Shakespeare, how you love to tease, 
But you may read the riddle as you please ; 
My fate is sealed, all argument beyond. 
The day is set and enter' d on the bond ; 
Within a week we tAvo shall be made one 
Our stealthy visitings be wholly done. 
And married life with all its joys begun. 

W. S. So far off" yet ! How slowly goes the time ! 
I'll have to whip it by a stint of rhyme. 
Two lengthy Poems I have under way, 
That may amuse me till my wedding day ; 
The Love of Venus for Adonis dear, 
The painful story of the pure Lucrece, — 

A. H. In that intention may you persevere, 
I know that each will be a masterpiece. 
But sweeter far than classic themes can be 
I prize the ballad that you made on me, 
Again repeat it that in every part 
It may be deeper graven on my heart. 

W. S. In homespun measure, be it right or wrong. 
Here is the substance of the rustic song : 
[Sings] 

HER WILL. 

When Willy in the face of Ann 

First shook his martial spear 
She had no fancy to trepan 

So rude a cavalier. 
But William had a way so dear 

As guerdon for his skiU 



THE SEA-SHOEE OP BOHEMIA. 

She changed in less than half a year 
And now she hath her WiU 

Her Wm 
Now Annie hath her WiU. 

What though no lucre Willie hath, 

Success he yet may seize : 
How many more have trod the path 

From Nothing up to Ease 
Two willing hearts are golden keys 

To open Fortune's till, 
And winds may waggle as they please 

So Annie hath her WiU 
Her Will 

So Annie hath her WiU. 

Sir Thomas Lucy may be rich, 

The Earl of Lester great. 
And good Queen Bess the wisest witch 

That ever ruled a State. 
But splendid names have little weight 

Compared to true love's thriU : 
For homely Hob there's country Kate, 

For Annie there is Will 
Her WiU 

For Annie there is Will. 

'Twas made of us, for you, my latest Muse, 

And poorly gives you, as I know, your dues. 

It may be sung each simple stanza thro' 

Without rebuke by either me or you. 

Last week I gave it to a Player lad 

Who, passing strong, the gift of music had. 

And swiftly fitting to the Avords a tune 

He made of it, he said "an evergreen," 

And said " Twill ring through all the British Isles 

When you and I have long been summoned hence." 

Such is the value of the Poet's gift. 

Conferring life until the crack of doom ; 

And doubly sure when it may make a start 

Associated with Apollo's art. 



4 O, GO NOT YET! 

But see ! Diana has already stalked 
Thro' starry forests till her bow is bent 
Against the deer that toss their antler'd heads 
While softly grazing in "The Milky Way." 
Some prowling keeper may be lurking near 
And my poor freedom it might cost me now 
Were I so late to be discovered here — 
Good night, sweet Annie, bear in mind our vow ! 



Scene 2. — Cottage near Stratford-on-Avon. 

Shakespeare taking leave of Mrs. S. 

W. S. Annie, the bell has told the time for me, 
Within an hour the darkness will be gone, 
I must be hence before Sir Lucy's men 
Have cross'd the hedges that surround the farm. 

A. S. O, go not yet, not yet, sweet husband mine : 
It might be better after all to stay, 
And take the sentence that the laws impose, — 
Three months at most and twice or thrice the price 
Of what the Squire may for his deer demand. 
Soon would it pass, and soon the fine be paid. 
But leaving home for far off London town, 
A country stranger in a city strange 
Without position, place, or post in view. 
You might succumb, collapse, go wrong, be wrecked. 
And nevermore to wife and babes return. 

W. S. Dear wife, be brave, — we nothing have to fear 
For while 'tis true that thousands in a year 
Like insects die upon the Banks of Thames 
Their end had come, as 'twas by God designed ; 
And whether sporting in luxurious state. 
Or crawling onward in a garb of rags. 
In city pent, or kennell'd on a moor. 
Till fate let fall the due appointed sword 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 

Their lives were charmed and just as safe and sure 

As if surrounded by a learned horde 

Of brave physicians, all as skilled as Butts. 

I'm not afraid : Last night I had a dream ; 

And in my dream methought I climbed a hill ; 

Rugged it was, and steep, and oh, so high : 

Above me and beneath me swarmed, like rats. 

It seemed a myriad of ambitious men, 

And I was handicapped with such a load 

Of children, greenness, disrepute and debts ! 

But persevering, step by step I rose 

Till ere the shadows of the broiling sun 

Were falling Eastward I had gained the top, 

And far outdistanced my companions all. 

With such an augury, so clear to read, 

I would do wrong to linger longer here. 

A. S. Ah, Will, you always could make black seem white 
And juggle sour until it changed to sweet 
But husband, husband, be advised by me 
I have misgivings of your trip afar : 
Some fairer damsels you may hap to see, 
A present star would dim an absent Queen — 

W. S. A present King eclipse an absent star ! 
No, Annie, never ; you may safely doubt 
That frost will chill you or that fire will burn. 
But with thy love encompass' d round about 
I'll still be constant till my safe return. 

A. S. Oh yet — oh, sweetheart — oh decide to stay 
Our httle darlings, let them plead for me. 
Sweet orphans with their father far away. 
The parent whom they nevermore may see, 
Oh, stay for me — for them — I knew you would — 

W. S. Sweet babes farewell ! — be brave as you are good 
Dear mistress now ! I soon shall scale the hill. 
And ever after you may have your Will. 

lExii.;\ 



6 HIS BAGGAGE AND HIS BEATS. 

\_EnteT Sir Lucy's men.'] 

Head Gamekeeper spealcs : 

How now, an't please you, hath our quarry 'scaped? 

My heart misgives me that the bird hath flown. 

Ah, well, perhaps, 'twere cheaper in the end 

To thus be rid of such a ne'er-do-well, 

Supposing all his baggage and his brats 

May now be quarter'd as a public charge. 

He's gone to London to be swallow'd up 

And well-digested ere he see again 

The woods of Wilmcote or the shady lawns 

Of Fulbrooke, Charlecote or Snitterfield, 

Unless, mayhap, the Luddites bolt him down 

And spew him forth again before he finds 

A friendly roost from which to make his start. 

Well rid, say I, of rubbish such as he 

The Springs of Treason wheresoe'er they be. 



ACT II. SpENE 1. — " The Theatre" Shoreditch, London. 

James Burbage, Manager, Soliloquizing : 

J. B. We must do something, or we'll lose our grip 
For five nights running we have miss'd our aim, 
And worst of all the "Curtain," so 'tis said, 
Is nightly filled by an applauding crowd. 
O, that my boy were older, for I know 
A great tragedian is in Richard bound ! 
Keep going, student, you are needed now 
To pull your father's venture from the mire, 
More Ditch than Shore as it has lately proved. 

\_A knock Enter Richard Field with William Shakespeare.] 

J. B. Come in ! 

R. F. Your pardon for intruding thus, 
But strong necessity is our excuse. 



THE SEA-SHOEE OP BOHEMIA. 

My friend Will Shakespeare who has newly come 

From my old home to try his fortune here, 

Remembering you were a Warwick man, 

And knowing also that the youth aspires 

To learn the calling that you so adorn 

I have been bold to bring him to your door. 

His wit I'll vouch for and his character 

If granted scope will answer for itself 

J. B. I'm sorry Field that you so far afield 
Have been compelled to bring your country friend. 
I like his looks, but looks, like words of praise 
Have little weight compared to clink of cash ; — 
What practice has he in the buskin line? 

R. F. to W. S. Answer yourself, man, you have got a tongue ! 

W. S. Exact experience, if I tell the truth, 
(As you, perchance, could gather fi-om my youth), 
I must confess that I have very small, 
If I could safely claim a pinch at all ; 
But I am apt, and, handy to the Stage, 
Success, I feel, I boldly may presage. 
I have the gift of rhythm and of rime, 
Have written tales and ballads in my time, 
Am widely read, have tact as well as taste, 
Know when to stint and when 'tis thrift to waste. 
Can skywards soar, and when the need demands 
More mundane duties I have ready hands. 
With trades or callings by the score — 

J. B. Enough, 

My rara-avis in the suit of buff ; 
I'll try your mettle, and we'll later see 
What recompense you may deserve of me. 

R. F. I humbly thank jon — may you ne'er regret. 

W. S. I thank you both, and I shall ne'er forget 
The friendly favor you have shown me, Dick, 
However fortune with her lance may prick ; 
Whether for me she opes her golden door. 



8 OP CELTIC-SA-XON BLOOD. 

Oi' leaves me stranded on the barren shore 
Of fruitless, bootless, overborne collapse 
That irrespective of the way 'tis spell'd 
Will read but failure,— which may all escape. 

[Exit Field.) 
J. B. Now, first, my stripling, let me have your name : 
Is't Shagsper, Shakspur, Shaxberd or Shakespeare ? — 
William, I fancy, in the usual way? 

W. S. My name is Shakespeare as my father's is 
And may be spell'd whichever way you please. 
So long as you retain the sound Shak spear. 
My Uncle William on the banks of Don 
(I am myself of Celtic-Saxon blood) 
Is known as "Chackpurse" by the granite Scots, 
And kin of mine are hailed as Shaggybeards. 
What's in a name considered by itself? 
It is the man that magnifies the name ! 

J. B. Well spoken, Rufus ; take this Play-book here 
And con the lines until you have them graved 
Upon the tablets of your plastic mind ; 

[J-sicle] (In time to struggle through your mastick jaws). 
You may as Prompter take your primal stand 
To any height hereafter to expand. 



Scene 2. — Shakespearean Play at Whitehall. 

Queen Elizabeth, Mes. Fitton, Eael op Essex, Lord South- 
ampton, Francis Bacon. Glove episode, Christmas, 1597. 

Q. E. "Love's Labor Lost " — Before we start the fun, 
Fetch forth the Actor-Author of the Play : 
M.y Lord Southampton, bring me here your friend. 
[South, retires — also Mary Fitton unperceived by Q.] 

E. OP E. What would your Majesty with Shakespeare now? 
You met him when you were at Kenilworth 
And such as he can live his whole life through 
Upon the sunshine of one Queenly smile. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 

Q. E. It is my wish : The Poet has a power 
More potent yet than any Queen can wield, 
And "such as he" is as a King of Kings. 
I would be rather fixed in his regard 
Than gain the homage of an Emperor. 
For, know ye not, when we are dead and gone, 
And nothing of our Court or Crown remains 
But here and there a scrap of doubtful lore, 
King William's reign will be as wide as words. 
His subjects scattered over all the globe. 
By admiration and affection linked, 
Where common rulers with mere royal rights 
Will only have the honors paid by law ? 
'Tis therefore well, if we desire to live. 
To win his favor who enjoys the art 
That far surpasses our restricted sway. 

[Southampton returns.'] 

Lord S. Your Poet, Madame, keenly feels your Grace, 
In condescending to receive him here, 
Rewards him better than his poor deserts ; 
But, ill accoutred as he haply is 
To play the Actor in the Play tonight, 
He says he will not show his disrespect 
By now intruding in your royal box. 

Q. E. Recharge him then, that 'tis his Queen's command 
At termination of his final scene 
In whatso'er apparel he may be 
We wish to meet him and will wait his time. 

[^Exit Southampton.] 

Q. E. To Francis Bacon. 
My young Lord Keeper, do you know the Bard? 

Bacon. Not I, Your Majesty, but shortly will. 
Since Jonson, as you know, our mutual friend. 
Has made appointment for our meeting soon. 

Q. E. Then let it be your special charge from me 
To tell our gentle Willy that his Queen 



10 THIS STKATFOED CLOWN. 

Desires his FalstafF as a Lover staged. 
I know the task will tax his utmost skill 
But I have faith in my unconquer'd will. 
Where's Mistress Fitton? Can it be that she 
Has gone to greet him and delayed him so? 

Mrs. Fitton. [^Just returned.'] 
Most gracious Majesty, I'm by your side. 
I went myself to give my Shakespeare cheer, 
And supplicate him Avhen he played tonight 
To act not only at his very best. 
But also constantly to bear in mind 
Bright royal eyes would his deportment watch. 
Keen royal ears would weigh his measured words. 
And haply you, to test his ready wit. 
Might interject some fun his brain to vex, 
Upset his poise and all his plan perplex. 

Q. E. Now Fitton, faith, you must have witchcraft sure : 
I have such fancy, for a fact, designed. 
When he is busy in his stated part 
I mean, as if by chance, to drop my glove. 
And will persist until I make him speak 
At least some few extemporaneous lines. 
It is my hope to make the flint strike fire 
And forge a bolt that we ourselves inspire. 



Scene 3. — London. 

Boar's Head Tavern. Shakespeare's Detractors: G. Chapman, 
R. Greene, H. Chettle, T. Nash. 

Gr. Let's drink it down — I'm not afraid to pay 
But Chettle here so stingy has become 
Before he knows it he will be as mean 
As Billy Shakespeare, — if two such could be ! 

Chet. Now God forbid that I should be so close 
Or only spend at other folk's expense. 

Chap. This Stratford clown we must at once suppress. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 11 

Nash. What is he but a bladder full of mud, 
And having stolen from liis bettei's pipes 
He thinks forsooth that he can play a tune. 

Chap. 'Tis good enough to charm the Warwick boors 
Or London's rabble of the grade of those 
He spent his hfe amongst till he was chased 
For crimes I know not from his native vale. 

Chet. I heard he killed Sir Thomas Lucy's deer 
And left no end of women in disgrace. 

Ge. Its like enough, for as Ave all have seen 
He pilfers plots, and acts, yes, plays entire; 
Despoils the beauties that he vilely stole, 
And leaves his heroines at last outraged. 
The helpless victims of his lust for gain. 
Poor upstart crow — so like a crow he sings ! 

Nash. Nay crows can croak ; he screeches like a seal. 

Chap. And now his impudence has made him fawn 
To catch Lord Pembroke's ever kindly ear. 
If Willy's gold were equal to his brass 
He would be foremost of our London wits. 

Gr. Who ever saw him at a feast or fair 
Unless a guest who sjDonged upon his friends ? 
He saves his money, but will gladly help 
E'en uninvited to get rid of yours. 

Nash. I hate the Butcher as I scorn his style. 
Why stay'd he not among his lambs and rams 
His pigs and cows, his livers, lights and plucks, 
But must his hands in human blood imbrue. 
And splash his pages with the crimson ink 
As if a Tragedy were naught but gore ? 
Because he has by Fortune's freakish whim 
At last been favor'd far beyond his worth 
He keeps aloof, puts on exalted airs 
And thinks that since he has the public ear 
And by his gall has even won the Court, 



12 WITH HONEY' D PHKASES. 

We gentlemen and scholars should obey 
His silly nod and sneeze when he takes snufF. 

Chap. Old Burbage too is in his dotage sure 
Or he would never such a tyro trust 
To run his Playhouse as this Shakescene does. 

Gr. Here, waiter I Bring us in another quart : 
We'll drink confusion to the saucy daw ; 
He must be squelch'd, not merely scotched but Mlt, 
And I'm the boy can make him shake his spear. 

All. Success attend you is the wish of all : 
We drink 'Quick Ending' to the greenhorn's fall. 



Scene 4. — Bacon's Lodgings, Gray's Inn, London. 

Bacon and Ben Jonson conversing. 

B. You said tonight we might expect your friend. 
Last night I saw him in " Love's Labor Lost" 
As acted at the Court before the Queen 
And were it not that I was forced to leave 
Before the finish of the second act 
I should have met him by the Queen's desire. 

B. J. Then heard you nothing of the hit he made 
Which so astonished and entranced the Queen ? 
She dropp'd her glove right squarely in his path 
And on the instant as if 'twere a part 
That had been studied and could only be 
He picked it up and in the blandest style 
With honey'd phrases worthy of a King 
He, bowing low, returned the royal gage 
Amidst applause that surged from pit to dome. 

B. I hanker much to know so rare a man. 
What boots it to be penn'd in Learning's Halls 
For many years devoting means and time 
And grinding on through Lecture Rooms and Books 
Till brains revolt and fingers fail to act ; 



THE SEA-SHOEE OF BOHEMIA. 13 



When from the fields, the shambles and the stalls 

Untutored surely, and a clown in fact. 

Comes William Shakespeare with a gift of rhyme 

And rhythmic style so perfect in its scan 

Its beauty none may ever hope to mend ; 

Its flow as easy as a mountain brook's — 

Small wonder be it that our College Bards 

Refuse to credit such a rustic sage 

And, green with envy, gnash their teeth with rage 

Comparing his with their reduced rewards ! 

B. J. The University of "gentle Will" 
Than either Cambridge or old Oxford too 
Was grander, greater and more ancient still. 
His Alma Mater was Dame Nature's self, 
And many volumes she has never oped 
To other mortals she revealed to him. 
Where classic scholars in the closet groped 
Without success upon the dusty shelf 
He took the Court, the city and the fields. 
And watching men and by observing things 
He learned the lore that such a study yields. 
And wrote it down, unletter'd as he seemed, 
In lines so fine, so truthful and so strong, 
And yet withal so lovely and so sweet 
That Readers never till he spoke had dreamed 
Our English tongue contained so rare a song 
Or tripped to verse on such melodious feet — 

B. Nay rather soared on such celestial wings! — 
I am amazed : How acts he as a man? 

B. J. As kind as modest and an honest soul. 
Upbuilt upon a strong yet gentle plan ; 
Is prudent too — in fact upon the whole 
He puzzles me, since, spite of all his charms 
Deserved dispraise his daily life disarms. 
\Knock heard. Shakespeake enters.'] 
But here he comes ! My friends, I own I'm proud 
To join your hands; may ye be henceforth friends. 



14 OUR GRACIOUS QUEEN. 

B. This is a meeting that I long have vow'd. 

S. In me both love and admiration blends. 

B. The honor's mine : pray, Shakespeare, have a chair ; 
Our friend and Secretary Jonson knows 
How much I have desired to meet you here. 

S. He wrote me of your wish when I was North 
And since the time when I his note received 
Your invitation has been wine to me 
And borne me up along a miry road. 
'Twas only yesterday we came to town 
And here I am, post haste, as yovi can see. 

B. I thank you heartily for your dispatch 
And wish to say before I state my news 
That I would deem that you would favor me 
If here you came as oft as you might list 
To use my books as if they were your own ; 
And if there may be aught where I can aid 
Your fruitful fancy or your ready pen 
I trust you may from this time henceforth feel 
That what I know is yours at your command. 

S. You raise me far above my slender claims, 
But I shall best display my gratitude 
By coming often to your chambers here. 
I'll not be slow to utilize your books 
And if your leisure may permit the choice 
No man exists to whom I would apply 
For help more gladly than I would to you. 

B. We'll seal the paction with a cup of sack. 
And now : Her Majesty, our Gracious Queen, 
So much enjoys your FalstaflTin your Plays 
She wants to see the valiant fat Sir John 
Re-staged, to act as if he were in love. 
Short time is left to execute the task 
But you can do it and 'twill raise you more 
In estimation of the Queen and Court 
Than any other of your Whitehall works. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 15 



S. Since 'tis her wish, her wish is my command. 
I'll do my best and let my betters see 
Some sample sketches of the daily life 
Of common people as they're seen and heard ; 
Pay off, perhaps, a debt I long have owed 
Sir Thomas Lucy of old Charlecote Park, 
And show my FalstafFas a wooer bold. 
As Time and Fancy may my plans unfold. 



ACT III. Scene 1. — Stratford-on-Avon. 

Alderman H. Walker and the Combes, William and John, 
discussing Shakespeare's Purchase of "New Place." 

W. C. "By William Shakespeare:" can it be the truth? 
It seems but yesterday he left the place 
A poaching jailbird with no robes but rags 
To hide his nakedness; and now 'tis said 
That he, our Will, has purchased, and has paid 
For New Place, lord ! the best and largest house 
In Stratford town ! Hast heard this morning's news? 

H. W. 'Tis true as Truth. I just have had a talk 
With William Underbill who told me so. 
Well done, I say, for Stratford's Butcher Boy ; 
But did I not predict, yea, forced it down 
The stubborn stomachs of Sir Lucy's men 
That we should hear yet and to good account 
Of BaiUfi" Shakespeare's energetic lad? 

J. C. A lucky man he must have surely been, 
A thrifty man he must have also been 
To thus return a conqueror so soon 
And buy the Mansion House of old Sir Hugh. 
Did'st hear how came it that he prosper' d so? 

H. W. We know his business has for many years 
Been with the Players playing many parts 
From Waiter, Prompter, Messenger and Mime 



16 A THOUSAND POUNDS. 

To acting Ghost, and onwards, upwards thence. 

Until by industry he blossom' d forth 

As leading owner of the " Globe House " Shares. 

Moreover also, be it so or not. 

It is reported that his noble friend, 

My Lord Southampton, when he heard that Will 

Had set his heart upon the Clopton Place, 

Freighted a letter with a Thousand Pounds 

Forthwith to aid him in his fond desire ! 

J. C. Good Noble Lord ! 

W. C. Far-seeing gentleman ! 

H. W. I trust it's true, for hardly likely there 
Will his Maecenas stay his helping hand, 
And indirectly may we profit all. 

J. C. It may be so that we may shortly see 
Our townsman's patron, and it may befall 
That he to borrow may be so inclined 
That then, my brother, we may be of use 
At ten per centum with our loan secured. 

H. W. Brave ten per cent ! why that's the golden trick 
As swift as most to gather in the coin 
On Avon's side or by the Banks of Thames : — 
Mayhap our Player is a Lender too? 
Dick Quiney told me that of William Shak. 
He borrowed largely and he doubtless paid 
The Lender's tax upon the lender's terms ; 
But, friend, have you forgot the biting rhyme 
In which the youngster made a scoff of you? 

J. C. Of me ! He never made a scoff of me, 
For know you not I have admired him long. 
As boy, as man ; and in my latest will. 
Myself unblest with either chick or child, 
(For wives and children are expensive things. 
And give to gear not only legs but wings). 
The tidy fortune that I have amass'd 



THE SEA-SHOEE OP BOHEMIA. ' 17 

Short of my wishes, as it doubtless is, 
If he survives me it will all be his. 

W. C. Well spoken. Walker, let my brother hear^ 
What I have known but never dared to tell. 
In fear my motive might be misconstrued — 
So bhndly has he set his eye and heart 
On one who rather than to spoil his jest 
Would scruple not to sacrifice his Mend. 

H. W. And lose both joke and friendship in the end ! 

J. C. What said he, then, or rather what is said 
That he has said disparaging John Combe ? 
Who no man owes, nor will do while he lives — 
And hath provided even for his death 
By he himself erecting his own tomb. 

H. W. It was a verse about your self-same tomb, — 
The doggrel yelping of a waggish youth, — 
And by your leave it had a swing like this : 

Here stands the Tomb 

Of Miser Combe 
Whose money ne'er was lent 

To rich or poor 

For less or more 
Than ten or twelve per cent. 

His horrid itch 

For growing rich 
Decreed for him his doom : 

An endless woe 

Of work below 
Whitewashing Hades' gloom ! 

J. C. The filthy boy — the vile ungrateful cur ! 
Bespattered o'er with dirt and blood and grease. 
To thus lampoon me in my native home ; 
But thank the Lord I still am sound and hale. 
To-day my will shall know another Will 
And Shakespeare's rhyme shall pay the Lawyer's bill. 
Come, Walker, you shall fitting witness be 
How Shak's red hair shall be re-combed " hy me." 



18 HIS NAME IS LAW. 

Scene 2. — Aberdeen, October, 1601. 

Wm. Shakespeare, Laurence Fletcher, James Law. 

L. F. {to W. S.) 
Salute your betters ! Don't you see my hat ! 
I'm now a citizen of "Bon Accord" ! 

Law. And also I to equal honor raised. 

W. S. Hail Burgesses of Aberdeen, twice hail ! 

F. This was a welcome that had hearty warmth 
And no man now will dare to speak to me, 
Of " frigid greetings " in the " Granite North." 

S. Or sing again a verse of "Cold and Raw"? 

F. It was a triumph such as even I 
Had not expected, howsoe'er deserved. 
I must retire and send the tidings South. 
Shakespeare receive my Scottish brother here — 
A rustic Poet as I've been informed 
Who much desires to have a talk with you. 
His name is Law, — "Enough" as says his crest, 
"For friend or foe," and I the first have proved. 

W. S. "Neither obscure nor loiu" I'm also sure ! 

Law. And to complete the mottoes of my clan 
I'll quote the third one: "While Hive I'll crow!" (Exit F.) 

W. S. Well said, my Scotsman ; is it truly so, 
As Fletcher says, that you are fond of verse 
And on occasion woo the muse yourself? 

Law. I cannot now recall a distant time. 
I was not partial to the clink of rhyme, 
And since I first began to use my quill 
My best-loved haunt has been Parnassus-Hill. 
But so capricious are the tuneful Nine 
They ne'er would deign to grace a verse of mine 
Unless I warbled in my native tongue ; 
So all my singing has perforce been sung 
In common measures and in Doric strains, 
Which your fine English I have heard disdains? 



THE SEA-SHOBE OF BOHEMIA. 19 

W. S. Not SO, my Poet ; I have high regard 
Above all writers for a rustic bard ; 
The art and science of the classic schools 
Are doubtless helpful as poetic tools, 
But years of study and persistent toil 
Can never catch the spirit of the soil — 
The native genius of the simple child 
Whose masterpieces are his woodnotes wild. 
Besides, the dialect of Aberdeen 
Is not so foreign as it might have been ; 
Your good braid Scots is not removed so far 
From Chaucer's English as my writings are — 
And I could wish the language of the South 
Had in its lexicon as rich a rowth 
Of couthie, glowing and poetic words 
As your succinct Vernacular affords. 
The morsels of your early Minstrelsie 
Have long been studied and admired by me ; 
Your Rhymer's Thomas, "he of Ercildoune " ; 
Your Barbour's Bruce, composed in this " braif toune " ; 
Your Wyntoun's Chronicle, "origynall"; 
Blind Harry's Wallace, — I have read them all ! 
Sir Ralph the Collier and Colkelbie's Soo ; 
King BcrdocTc that "intill a fern-bush grew"; 
The Merry Carling "of auld Battock's bow'r"; 
King James's Quair, compiled in Windsor's Tow'r, 
And, better still, his 'Christens Kirk on the Greene 
"Embalming rustic life in Abirdene"; 
Sweet Robert Henryson, Dunfermline's Sage 
Who wrote the Abbey Walk and Praise of Age, 
Robin and Makyne and The Bloody Sark, 
And as a Fabulist has left his mark ; — 
I've scann'd them thro', the mickle and the wee, 
Their greits o' grief as weel's their gleams o' glee, 
To Walter Kennedy, and great Dunbar 
Your brightest and your best Poetic Star ! 
As Metre's Master he is not surpass' d 
By any Bard among the British class' d; 



20 A KING 'TIS WELL TO KEX. 

His fine artistic finish and his ease, 

His varied staves that never fail to please, 

His grave or gay alliterative strains. 

His rare, unique examples of Refrains, 

Affected sometimes as his style may be 

We'll look for long before his like we see ! 

The first I know successfully to wrench 

New forms and fancies from the frisky French ; 

And still unequall'd in our English verse 

For apt expressions, tender, true and terse; 

While for ironic and satiric slaps. 

For witty pictures and for bitter raps, 

His rich and racy penetrative pen 

Proclaims him as a King 'tis well to ken ; — 

Brave, brilliant, brainy, most melodious Scot, 

Who likes him not must surely know him not ! 

And Gavin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, 

Whose vulgar Virgil still is unexcell'd ; 

And David Lyndsay, Lyon-King-of-Arms, 

Whose cry, tho' coarse, is not without its charms ; 

A Playwright too, whose genius animates 

The Pleasant Satyre of the Three Estates, 

As fine a picture of his land and time 

As any work in either prose or rhyme : — 

I love them all ; I know them less or more 

As Wits unparallel'd in Southron lore ! 

But this digression on my part excuse, 

I thirst to try a tasting of your muse, 

If quite convenient let me have the lay 

That Fletcher raved about so much to-day. 

Law. Less worthy I, than he was critic kind, 
And so disposed may I the Master find 
When all untrained my halting lines I read. 

W. S. The pleasure will be mine ; my friend proceed. 



Law recites. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 21 



THE WAY TO WOO. 

When ye hae look'd upon the lass 

Ye feel inclined to mak' your ain, 

Some glarin' fau'ts ye may let pass, 

For Love beguiles the Lover's brain ; 

So get some auld and practised hands 

To teU ye hoo your lady stands. 

And first, when ye set oot to woo. 

Keep fu'some phrasin' frae your tongue ; 
Straucht-forrat speech wiU help ye thro'. 

While lees will lose the aidd or young ; 
But show ye lo'e the lassie weel. 
And she'll o'erlook your want o' skeel. 

She'U maybe for a short time froon, 

And cut ye wi' a caul'rif e'e, 
But lang afore the nicht slip roun' 

She'll wish ye had the pluck to pree, 
And greet her lane an hoor or twa 
If ye should fruitless wear awa'. 

What tho' she mak' a feint to fecht. 

And scowl and scaul' when ye draw near ? 

She kens her " Na " has little wecbt, 

And tries to gar ye true she's sweir 

To grant ye what she wadna gie 

Had ye nae been mair Strang than she ! 

When better kent bear wi' her wheems, 
Syne bidena back to lat her ken 

How great and grand are a' your schemes 
Aboon the schemes o' common men ; 

And how the gear is roun' ye row'd. 

For nane are proof against the gowd. 

Be to your aiths as true as steel, 

But o' your deeds mak' little din ; 

And gin your dearie treat ye weel 

Stick to her side thro' thick and thin ; 

Yea, should misfortune at her bite, 

Be last to flee, tho' a' should flyte. 



22 THE TRAGIC STOEY OF MACBETH. 

The depths that in the women be 

Choice is the chiel that comprehen's ; 

The gull that skims across the sea 
Aboot its caves as little kens ; 

For aft a nymph when she says " Nay " 

Will sulk if ye should tak' it sae. 

By this ye'll maybe understand 

Who hear my rambling verses thro' ; 

The softer sex of every land 

Have bodies, parts and passions too, 

And like at times to taste the sweets 

As weel's the mair substantial meats. 

But weesht ! I fear I've been owre bauld 
To show sic secrets in my sang ; 

Some things had better nae be tauld, — 

Tho' what's the truth, — Can it be wrang? 

Then wi' a hint I'll end my rhyme : 

Be ye not hlate when comes your time ! 

W. S. Now that's a ballad has both sound and sense, 
[^side] (I'll utilize it when we travel hence.) 
It may seem strange to say so, but my brain 
Has been at work since you commenced your strain ; 
In fancy's flight I turned me to the tale 
Of Caledonia and the stand she made 
For Independence by the Bannock-burn. 
Brave-hearted people ; great, unconquer'd race ; 
How grand a topic for a noble play ! 

Law. Too vast a theme to handle in a night ; 
But, if the Mouse may help the Lion out, 
Take up the tragic story of Macbeth, 
(His step-son Lulach in our shire was slain): 
Bring in the Avitches on the blasted heath. 
Brave Banquo's ghost that feasting would not down, 
The Jezebel that died for lack of sleep. 
The Birnam Wood that walked to Dunsinane, 
The vengeful fighting of the fiery Duff, 
And all the items as so finely told 



THE SEA-.SHOEE OF BOHEMIA. 23 

Within the pages of our HolHnshed 

Who took, in turn, his facts from Bellenden. 

W. S. I'll brood upon it, and you have my thanks 
For your suggestion of a subject fraught 
With actions, persons, places and a time 
So picturesque, poetic and sublime. 
Who could have been so bold as to declare 
Our passing visit to your Weigh-house Square 
Would bring results of such import to me 
As, by Saint Andrew, they bid fair to be ! 



Scene 3. — Walton Hoihse. Earl of Pembroke's Home. 
Shalcespearean Play to he given. 

King James I. Johnny Fergusson, the King's Scotch favorite, 
Courtiers, etc. 
King J. to Fergusson : 

Now, Johnny, stop, you deave me with your din. 
Because you were my playmate in my youth. 
And have been with me all the time since then ; — 
Because I grant you freedoms spared to few. 
You must not fancy I can stomach all. 
How better think you would you do than I 
Were you John Fergusson to be King James 
And I King James to be John Fergusson? 
By Jove — we'll test it and begin the jest ! 
\_Changes places with Fergusson.] 
My Lords, the King is in the Chair of State : 
Salute His Majesty as I do now ! 

\_All salute Fergusson as King.] 

Ferg. {as King) speaks: 
My hearty thanks ! My friends resume your seats. 

\_All sit down except Ferg. and King J.] 
While chance permits it let me speak my mind. 
How easy is it for the royal head, 
To be so good, so witty and so wise ; 



24 IS SHAKESPEARE WITH THEM? 

And yet at times Old Truth must take a turn, 
And, like a poor relation at a feast 
Will by his marked intrusion cause a chill, 
To check the flattery so forced and feigned. 
How false, how venal, how corrupt the Court 
That feeds the vainness of a foolish King, 
A self-conceited, weak, pedantic thing 
That hath rewards and honors but for those 
Who prostitute their talents to his whims ! 

[^Pointing to King as Fergusson.] , 

There stands a man that is a manly man, 
An honest creature and a model friend. 
He was the comrade of my childhood, he 
Regards me now with unaffected love. 
By all the means that are at his command, 
His pure affection he has daily proved, 
Making my welfare greater than his own, 
Striving to guard me from malign advice, 
Prompting me ever for my country's good, ' 

Warning me gently when I might have strayed '/ 
Where danger lurked, unseen by fawning knaves"; 
A man that I would have you imitate, ' 

For let me tell you further in his praise 
While I have squander'd fortunes on a horde 
Of sycophantic hypocritic rogues 
To good John Fergusson now standing there • 
In all the years Ave have as brothers been 
I have donated not a single plack ! 
But— 

K. J. Augh, you paAvky loon, brak' aff your clack ; 
I want nae mair o' your ironic tongue ; 
Get aff my throne or I shall hae ye hung ! 

[F. retires.^ 

Lord P. The actors. Sire, your servants of the stage. 
Are all assembled in the court without 
Prepared to give you what you may select. 

K. J. Is Shakespeare with them? I'll confer with him, — 



THE SBA-SHOEE OF BOHEMIA. 25 

A worthy actor, passing apt to learn. 

I have some thoughts we both may profit by. 

lEnter S.] 
Welcome, my friend, I'm glad again to see 
That by your greeting you remember me. 

\_Aside.'] 
Didst get the Speech I sent last week to you 
To have it spoken, as it were by chance, 
When you can best inject it in your Plays? 

S. I did, Your Majesty; it can be used 
At any time I play a kingly part ; 
To -wit, to-night, in "Hamlet — his Revenge" 
I'll inteiject it as an interlude. 

K. J. Na, faith, I would not have my words postponed 
Too far behind to straggle in the march. 
And haply pass unnoticed in the crowd. 
When all your hearers are at your command. 
The Avhich (if ever) at the Prologue is. 
Speak forth my Speech; it is the proper time. 

S. Pardon me. Sire, but with much more effect 
I could import it, weave it in between. 
Or else delay it till the whole be past ; 
The best you know should be reserved for last. 

K. J. And then sing-song it as an Epilogue 
When half your congregation is asleep? 
A good thing, as the Haly Book can show, 
Is twice as good when it is promptly gi'en ; 
So make my piece the Proem to your plays, 
Not only here but wheresoe'er you are, 
And see you keep it in your repertoire ; 
Speaking it plainly once a day at least, 
Whether an actor at a private feast 
Like here at Walton, or the public stage 
Your time, your gestures and your voice engage. 
That all my people may between the lines 
Interpret truly my august designs. 



26 THE PRINCE OF DENMAEK. 

The Play can thus instruct the class that shirk 
The truths my clergy thunder frae the Kirk. 

W. S. The King's suggestion is his servant's law. 
K. J. Until requested you may now withdraw. 

[To Lord P.] [W. S. Retires.'] 

What is the play to be to-day, my lord ? 

L. P. The " Prince of Denmai-k," please Your Majesty, 
In special honor of your Danish Queen, 
And if it suits you we can now begin. 

K. J. We're ready, waiting; let the trumpet sound. 

\_Trumpeter heard.] 
Enter W. S. \_as a king]. Recites King James's Speech. 
I thank you people for the homage paid 
To me your two times coronated king. 
Think you that time in thus selecting me 
Hath not done wisely after waiting long? 
How many wretched, bloody, fatal wars 
Have racked the realms which now in peace are one, — 
How many vows and life and death desires 
Have been recorded in the bygone years 
To crush the independence of the North 
And hide the Thistle underneath the Rose ! 
How oft hath good St. Andrew's cross been spread 
In firm offence and proud defence against 
The sacred banner of the bold St. George ! 
But now at last without a single jar 
The fiery genius of the steadfast Scot 
Hath smoothly triumphed, and the royal line 
That dates its start from Fergus, styled the First, 
Absorbs its rival, and will keep the lead 
Increasing strength from now forevermore. 
'Tis proper then that I, who thus unite 
In my majestic and imperial self 
The flight of ages and the hopes and fears 
Of countless millions who are dead and gone. 
Should make it certain that my mother land 



THE SEA-SHOEE OP BOHEMIA. 27 

May have the sweet, the sunshine and the fruit, 

While for her foe the labor and the sweat 

Will be the fittest portion of the spoil. 

Be gi-ateful all that ye have found in me 

A brainy man, a cultui'ed, knowing King, 

To see whose equal must Europa wait 

Three hundred twelvemonths from our present date. 

Then nobles, commons, guard your treasure well ; 

It ill becomes a man to talk or act 

Derogatory to his parent dear ; 

And if there are amongst my subjects all 

Any who deem that I too much prefer 

The land and people of my birth and race 

Remember also that 'tis God's command 

To common people and to Kings alike 

To honor still the source from which they sprang. 

[K. J. God bless the Actor for his brave harangue f^ 

And furthermore, because your sovereign Sir 

Was born so richly gifted from above 

And by the bias of his secret springs 

Is apt at times to value study more 

Than even king-craft and affairs of state, 

Beheve it not a predetermined whim, 

A royal fancy or a foolish fault. 

But rather down upon your humble knees 

And thank the Lord who in his boundless grace 

Hath bless'd the age with such a puissant Prince. 

K. J. Well spoken. Sir, I pray you to accept 
This toyish trifle of a signet ring ; 
When worn 'twill help you to recall your King. 

W. S. \_Bowing loivJ] 
Unworthy, yet my grateful heart exclaims 
God guard Great Britain and long live King James ! 



28 HE IS A POET TRUE. 

Scene 4. — " The Globe" Theatre, London. 
[Manager Shakespeare accepts Ben Jonson's Play.'] 

James Buebage, Proprietor, to W. S., Mgr. 
You waste your breath — I have decided No, 
Ben Jonson's Comedy I'll not accept. 
As well as I you are aware that he, 
But for his quarrel with old Henslow's man, 
Would not have brought his composition here ; 
Besides his thumb that bears the Tyburn brand 
(And some declare it suits him to a T) 
Is far too clumsy to manipulate 
The mobile clay that present plays demand. 
Racy he is at times but far too coarse. 
Too full of fighting and of self esteem. 

W. S. But yet for all he is a Poet true, 
And while he may affect pedantic strains 
And overrate the learning of the schools. 
His work has worth — I've read it three times thro ; 
And also play'd in it some ten years gone. 

B. But then again he is so mixed in broils 
To take him up may cost us very dear. 
Have you forgotten how he carried on 
When London chuckled over "Eastward Ho !" 

W. S. Why then he took a noble manly course ; 
As I remember when he heard the news 
Of Marston and of Chapman disciplined 
For certain jibes against the hungry Scotch 
(That gave such rank displeasure to the King), 
Ben, unaccused, Avent with them to the jail, 
And, braving threats of losing nose and ears, 
Shirked not what sentence might have been imposed, 
A pretty sequel has been also told : 
How at a supper which the Poet gave 
In celebration of the Rogues' release 
His mother clinked her wineglass to his health. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEmA. 29 

And showed a poison that she had prepared 
For him to swallow had it been his fate 
To have the doom of mutilation judged ; 
And added also, lion-hearted dame, 
(Most worthy mother of so brave a son !), 
That she reserved sufficient for herself 
To make it certain she should not survive 
Such feared dishonor to her loving pride. 

B. Why that's a tale that's worth an act itself. 
It makes me feel more kindly to the man, 
And from the Author to his manuscript. 

W. S. His Play is good — I'll vouch you that it pays. 
I'll do my utmost to insure success. 
Besides, the Playwright is as much in need 
Of pence and pounds as of a new applause. 
The time is ripe to have a change of parts. 
And don't you think not only will we hold 
Our old time patrons, but secure as well 
A fair proportion of the Henslow crowd ? 
Here Jonson comes ! \_Enter B. J.] 

B. J. How points the index now ? 

B. At Shakespeare's plea I have decided, Ben, 
To try the temper of your pithy pen ; 
Arrange the acts and let me know how soon 
The comic fiddle can be screw'd in tune. 

[Exit BuK.] 

B. J. How can I thank you for your kindness. Will ? 

W. S. By proving I have not o'erpraised your quill. 
Here is your chance, if we succeed, to show 
You'll have two strings in future to your bow, 
And need not like a craven beggar live 
On such bare scraps as Henslow cares to give. 

B. J. A double hit ! and Christ my luck arrest 
If I neglect to do my very best. 



30 IN EDINBOBO' TOUN. 

Scene 5. — Hawthornden, Scotland. 

Wm. Drummond, Jonson, Sir Wm. Alexander, 
John Taylor. — [1607.] 

W. D. Ben, let us talk about your comrade, Will ; 
You see by looking on my working shelves 
Your Shakespeare's Avritings have been well perused. 
There's " Romeo and Julietta " set 
By chaste "Lucrece " and its companion " Tale " ; 
" Love's Labor Lost," the " Pilgrim " and the " Dream," 
All standing there among my English books. 
I saw him once in Edinburgh town — 

B. J. The heart of Scotland, Britain's other eye, — 

W. D. 'Twas when the King had overcome the Kirk 
And dared the Session to debar the Play, 
Sir William here was with me at the time. 

Sir W. a. I mind it well — how could we e'er forget 
The treat we had with Shakespeare to ourselves 
Discussing Poesy in all its forms. 
He read for us his newly printed piece. 
And many Sonnets yet to see the types. 
Such inspiration from his work I drew 
That I must needs my Tragedy compose 
And print my book of Loving Lyrics too. 

B. J. Will answers bravely for a rustic bard, 
It were a pity that he knew not more. 
Sometimes I feel that he must be restrained. 
His numbers flow at such a reckless rate. 
And more than once his mouthings I have checked. 

W. D. How does he take suggestions or advice? 

B. J. It all depends ; but ne'er amiss from me. 
He has the sense to show he has respect 
For what he lacks in higher realms of lore. 

J. T. I know him well — have rowed him oft on Thames 
And much delight to hear him when he talks ; 
But he has moods, and I have seen him sit 



THE SEA-SHOKE OF BOHEMIA. 31 

As still as Charon on the pitchy Styx 

En^vrapped in thought that bound him like a pall, 

His hearing gone, his sight for miles obscured, 

A silent statue, with his brain and soul 

A-hunting haply in Elysian fields. 

Anon he'd change and be the life and hght 

Of all the fleet that flocked within our call, 

So scintillating in his ready wit, 

That more than once forgetful of the time. 

The true direction and the boatman's fare, 

I've steered him distant from his destined course. 

W. D. How does he prosper in a worldly sense ? 

B. J. He's careful, thrifty, has a business head. 
And knowing well the potency of gold 
As far as he excels his fellows all 
In his successful courtship of the Mvise 
He has outstripped them in his Bank account. 
He soon expects to be so circumstanced 
As to permit him to desert the stage 
And end his chapter, Hke a Scottish laird. 
Among his fields, his flocks, his books, his friends, 
A happy independent English squire. 

W. D. And he will grace what place he may desire ; 
I hope to meet him ere the year be spent. 
But you will see him long before I can, 
And 'tis my msh that you convey to him 
My admiration and my loyal love. 

Sir W. a. And also mine — until, in person, I 
My growing gratitude can ratify. 



ACT IV. Scene 1. — New Place: Stratford-on-Avon. 

Mrs. Shakespeare and W. Sh. reading a ^oaper of accounts. 

W. S. What's this? Some further instance of your waste 
To friends and foes alike so sadly known, 



32 AN INDEPENDENT, LANDED GENTLEMAN. 

Or but a sample of my lady's taste? 

O, Avhat avails it that for many years 

Away from home I sweated and I toiled, 

A waif upon the sea of life adrift, 

In town and country everywhere alone, 

Incurring daily countless jeers and sneers, 

In jealous tiffs for evermore embroiled, 

And by the most self sacrificing thrift 

At last succeeded in my inborn aim 

To save enough to make me ere my prime 

An independent landed gentleman 

Of honor' d name and of no little fame, 

To end my days where humbly they began 

Within the hearing of old Stratford's chime? 

O, what avails it when by Church and Law 

And Duty's tie if not by Love's sweet bond, 

(The consequences of a youthful lapse 

That still harasses with "Perchance? Perhaps?" 

A heart as foolish as it once was fond), 

I must be jointed to a wasteful jade 

Whose chief exertion is to cram her maw ; 

Who nothing knows so much as how to spend, 

And, husband-absent, entertain her friend. 

Regardless how the cost may be defray'd — 

M.Rs. S. [Sings lullaby to child in cradle.'] 

Sleep pretty dove, read not my heart, 

Nor ask me why I sigh and weep, 
In time thou, too, wilt play thy part, 

Till mother wakes thee, sweetly sleep ! 

W. S. A preacher here without your man's consent, 
Without his knowledge \_reading jKiper] ; 

Ho ! what ! Can it be ? 
Margarelon in Agamemnon's tent — 
A gi-eyhound dining with a deep mouth'd brach, 
A pious pointer with a pedigree. 
That imp of impudence, Old Parson Hew, 



THE SEA-SHOKE OF BOHEMIA. 33- 

And not contented with his cup of sack 
He needs must have his quart of claret too ! 
And so 'tis thus he oils his rasping saw, — 
I bless the wind that blew me here this straw. 

Mrs. S. [croons]. 

Sleep pretty dove, heed not the rays 

That through the crannied rafters peep ; 
O dreary nights and weary days — 

Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep — 

W. S. What babbling now ? The razor's sharpen'd edge 
No keener is than your sarcastic tongue. 
But if my honor may be smugly smirch' d, 
If, in my absence, comes a cockled snail 
To feast and fatten from my larder shelves, 
(God's bread ! Such doings make me more than mad !) 
Is't not enough that I should so be served 
Without to have to face accompts for drink ? 

Mrs. S. 'Tis said that we may find our way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality. 

W. S. Among the which I count not taxing me 
With bills contracted for a preacher's spree. 
Hamnet, come hither ! Take this document, 
And bear it swiftly to the City Hall ; 
Say to the chamberlain it is my wish 
This bill be settled from the public purse ; 
So must I save myself from thirsty fish 
Before the liking of my spoiase grows worse. 

lExii W. S.] 

Mes. S. to child. 

Sleep pretty dove, the waves that fleck 

The always wind-obeying deep 
By distant orbs are held in check — 

We dine and sup and then we sleep. 

W. S. [Retiirning.l This is the last, the limit, and the bound 
Of both my patience and my dear won gold 



34 REVENGE IS SWEET. 

To be imperiled with so frail a skiff. 

It was but recently that by the will 

Of Thomas Whittington, a shepherd hind, 

All Stratford knew that William Shakespeare's wife 

Had borrowed money which she had not paid ; 

And I to make the payment still more hard, 

Was ordered curtly by the local court 

To spread the sum, with interest accrued, 

Among the poorest of the city's poor. 

What next I wonder may be brought to light 

My heart to sicken and my hopes to blight ! 



Scene 2. — Stratford, New Place. 

Thomas Green, Lawyer to W. Shakespeare. 

T. G. Cousin, consider, what will people say? 
Already you are called litigious, harsh. 
And for a man so fortunately placed 
It seems ungrateful to be urging suits 
With such severity against the poor. 

W. S. Suspend advice of such a sort as this, 
I'll have my rights if there be right in law. 
Where was the pity shown to me or mine 
When Fortune's wheel refused for us to turn ? — 
My father hounded to an early grave, 
And I to years of drudging banishment ! 

T. G. But, cousin, you can now afford to lose — 
And Magnanimity, it is a gem 
More precious yet than even Justice is. 
Besides we know that Horneby's only fault 
Was acting bail — a baleful deed it proved — 
For Addebroke, who lately broke away. 

W. S. Revenge is sweet ; I'd have the case proceed ; 
And show such fellows that the Player scorned 
Can take his part and bravely hold his own. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 35 

Hast thou forgot how five years only gone 
Phil Rogers, strutting hke a turkey-cock, 
From inn to inn and chuckling all the while 
About the ease with which the New Place clown 
Gave up his malt, and how the New Place brew 
Went sweetly trickling one's parched gullet down 
And all for nothing — truly doubly new ; 
And how he found the master of the place 
Obliging always with his well-filled purse, 
And then when partial payment was desired 
How Philip boasted that I might collect 
My worm's-meat-balance from his liquor-stoups. 
And whistle, yes, sir, whistle for my coin ! 
Have I not told you of John Clayton's case? 
He owed me too and he refused to pay — 
Inventing doubtless as a good excuse — 
A melting tale about his daughter dead 
A sickly Avife — and what more I forget 
To try to rob me of my honest dues. 
And there were others, would-be swindlers all. 
But I, sir, haled them to their just deserts. 
And made them jig to figures of my choice, 
And to the tunes the noble judge required. 
They're all alike, ungrateful, thievish scum. 
And Horneby now must dance his hornpipe too ! 

T. G. Oh, cousin, pause, be politic for once, 
Shak' not your spear too rudely, if you please. 
But rather, lovingly advised by me, 
Let gentleness your last enforcement be. 

W. S. Away — desist — no plea shall now avail ; 
As he has brewed now must he drink his ale. 
Thank God my rights the statutes still protect. 
With costs and charges what is due collect ! 

[ExU W. S.] 

T. G. {alone) A sordid mercenary heartless man 
As ever blasted debtor with his ban ! 
O, would that I were independent here 



36 TO VIRGINIA'S SHORE. 

Instead of Pilot in the business Sea 

To such a privateer and buccaneer ! 

But Times are hard and chents such as he, 

My wealthy cousin, truly there are none. 

Or else how quickly were my ties undone ; 

O Lord, bear witness that I cry dissent 

From that for which I am made instrument ! 

{To S. in adjoining room.) Ay, ay Sir, I will draft the papers soon, 
And serve the summons in the afternoon. 



ACT V. Scene I. — Mermaid Tavern, Bread St., London. 

Shakespeare, Raleigh, Jonson, Henry Hudson, and John Smith 

discussing the Beo-mudas, America, and the 

Tempest— [Dec. 1609.] 

Raleigh. Sir Thomas Gates has had his vessel wrecked 
Upon Bermuda, or "The Devil's Isle" ; 
Sylvester Jourdan has the true report. 

Hudson. I know the place — as fair as it is false — 
May met disaster there in Ninety-one. 

John Smith. A den of furies and the Spaniard's dread 
No land more fearful, fateful and forlorn. 

Sir W. R. A very hell of thunder and of storm. 

Shak. What says this Jourdan in his tale of woe? 

W. R. He tells hoAV he with NeAvport, Sommers, Gates, 
Their ship with others, to the tune of eight, 
Were pressing onwards to Virginia's shore 
When all at once a mighty storm arose. 
The wind blew sharp, the lightnings fiercely flashed, 
Loud boomed the thunder and the Ocean boiled. 
Till in the hurricane the fleet was spread, 
Their staunch " Sea- Venture" being parted soon ; 
And, tempest-tossed so rudely and so long. 
She sprung a leak and all seemed wholly lost. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 37' 

Three days and nights the stress of weather raged, 
And at the kettles, buckets, tubs and pumps 
The sailors slaved, with neither sleep nor rest. 
To bale the water from the sinking ship. 
Still seemed the sea for all their strain to gain. 
And when at last, exhausted one and all, 
They closed the hatches and in grim despair 
Resigned their vessel to what fate might come. 
As if to free them for their humbled mien 
The God of Water made the billows calm. 
Sped out the Sun and to their grateful eyes 
Revealed the Islands of Bermudas near ! 

Smith. But not completely were they tortured yet : 
Their ship was lifted till it wedged between 
Two frowning rocks and while thus anchor' d fast 
The crew and passengers were set on land, 
The best provisions and apparel saved, 
And when again old Neptune show'd his teeth 
He only feasted on an empty scow, — 
Bare ribs and trucks unworthy but for fire. 

W. S. How look'd the isle upon a closer view? 

H. H. Like many more that have been less maligned : 
A perfect Paradise of air and soil ! 
The only devils to be found were hogs, 
The only furies were the harmless birds. 
It much recalls my own dare-deil exploits 
Exploring channels on the Mainland's shore. 
I was the first of Anglo-Saxon race 
To pierce the River that now bears my name 
On North America's North Eastern fringe. 
Such tales were told of what we might expect 
From peris, furies, elves and oufes and imps 
That sentinell'd and ruled the great New World, 
Were we to penetrate beyond the coast, 
That all my men, excepting one or none. 
Refused to help me in my heart's resolve 
To separate the falsehoods from the truth, 



38 THE WESTERN INDE. 

Until they had been coaxed and doubly-bribed, 
And even then their courage almost failed. 

W. S. Such are the weeds that flourish in the clay 
Manured by mystery and ignorance ! 
These thrilling stories interest me much : — 
I would I were a Navigator born, 
Like Raleigh, Cabot, Frobisher or Drake ; 
Or brave Explorer, like our Hudson here. 
Or Cortez, Cavendish — Columbus' self; 
Or Colonizer, like our Captain Smith ! 
What rare adventures must be ripe to pull 
In yon strange, teeming transatlantic land ! 

B. J. Why, Will, you can explore it from your chair 
More safely far than from the tallest mast 
Or as the Captain of a Caravan — 
Seek out the sailors who have made the trip, 
Imbibe impressions that are fresh and warm, 
Apply your knowledge to the gather'd mass 
And, floating all Avith your romantic pen. 
In fancy's flight your ships can go and come, 
Insured from danger and assured of freight 
More precious far than all Atlantis' mines. 
How fine, for instance, would a " Tempest " be 
Transmuted from a crude Reporter's notes 
To Shakespeare's golden and bejewelled strains ! 

W. S. I fear me, Ben, my metal and my gems 
Would illy stand the criticaster's tests. 
And but Tobacco or Potato Stems 
Would be my luck on such Utopian quests ; 
But I confess the Western Inde to me 
Tho' now a mystic and a mapless land 
In time will prove, in my belief, to be 
The brightest brilliant on Britannia's hand. 

Sir W. R. God grant that she may keep it ever safe 
And not endanger it by jealous broils 
Betwixt the factions of the realm, as now ! 



THE SEA-SHOKE OF BOHElVnA. 39 

Scene 2. — Stratford-on-Avon. 
Shakespeare, Drayton and Ben Johnson. The last bout. 

W. S. Welcome, thrice welcome to my rural den ; 
How fares it with my trusty ancient Ben? 
And Michael Drayton, it was kind of you 
To spare the time to come and see me too. 

B. J. Ah, Willy, you are aging somewhat fast, 
I did not think to find your hair so gray. 

W. S. Blame father Time, the great iconoclast. 
He pauses not, but paints by night and day. 
We strive and struggle and forget the sands 
That tell our tale are ever running down. 
And soon or late we come to empty hands. 
Or rich or poor, in country or in town. 

M. D. Yes, life at longest is so very brief 
When we have reached an understanding — lo ! 
We fade and shrivel like an autumn leaf 
And fall into Oblivion's ceaseless flow. — 

W. S. The mystic river that Ave all must cross — 

B. J. Without the help of pilot or of chart ! — 

M. D. Where present gain may be our future loss — 

W. S. Without a chance to make another start ! — 
Ah well, it may be but a pagan creed 
But I believe that we may safely trust 
Each honest man will get his honest meed 
The final Judge must at the least be just. 

B. J. Fear if you like, to do the thing that's wrong ; 

M. D. Fear to be mean and to be insincere, 
Fear — 

W. S. If it please you, let its change the song ! 

B. J. Then, first, di'ink with me to the death of Fear! 

M. D. Black-hearted Fear, he is no friend of mine : 
I hope that Hope may ever hold him down ; 



40 AT THE MERMAID CLUB. 

Bright, cheerful Hope, whose language is divine. 
The help ahke of courtier and of clown ; 
The merchant's beacon and the lover's star, 
The student's — 

W. S. Drayton, how you moralize ! 
We Lyric Poets, how disposed we are 
On scant suggestion to philosophize ! 
But change the subject, let me have your news. 
And leave in peace our speculative views. 
How left you London and the brotherhood 
That in the days, or rather say the nights. 
When I was with you, were so fond to meet 
In social converse at the Mermaid Club ? 
O, was it not a session unsurpass'd 
When all were present ; Spenser in the chair ; 
Bacon beside him, mighty Marlowe by ; 
My Lord Southampton at Lord Leceister's side ; 
Sir Walter Raleigh in a friendly tilt 
With Chapman, Daniel, Middleton or Nash ; 
Sir Henry Hudson, "Pocahontas" Smith, 
Discussing futures with their auditors 
Selden and Stanhope and John Manningham ; 
Sir Philip Sidney analyzing verse 
With Hey wood, Harvey, Massinger or Meres ; 
And here and there, commingling with the throng, 
As bright and brilliant as the Northern Lights, 
Webster and Peele and Hawthornden and Greene ; 
And Lodge and Kyd, and Warner, Fletcher, Ford ; 
With Burbage, Lawrence, Heming, Condell, Kempe, 
Taylor and Tilney ; Archie Armstrong too ; 
Allen and Henslowe, Florio, Jaggard, Thorpe ; 
Pembroke and Burleigh, Hooker, Coke and Donne, — 
Ah, nevermore may Britain hope to see 
So grand a group of intellectual stars 
Within the compass of a single room ! 

B. J. Alas, alas ! how few could answer " Here," 
As one by one you call the deathless roll. 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 41 

Let's fortify our feelings with a draught, 
And in the order of your lengthy Ust 
We'll give the answers as we hap to know. 

\They drink.'] 

B. J. resumes. 
Spenser is dead, and Bacon plays the Court 
Attorney-general to the King and State ; 
Marlowe, his gifts and his untimely end 
We now have mourned for over twenty years. 
My Lord Southampton is across the seas — 

W. S. 0, pray desist, I cannot bear to hear ; 
Rather recall them as they were when last 
We waked the echoes on the banks of Thames, 
And drink : " Here's hoping we may all again 
Unite our voices in Walhalla's Halls." 
Ah, surely we are not from chaos plucked, 
And hung on nature's adamantine walls. 
As bloomers here, but for a little while 
To flash and fade, then fall into the mire ! 

B. J. Or unconsumed, to feel eternal fire 
As worthless, witless hypocrites will preach. 
Though in their hearts thej'- know the hellish lie. 

W. S. Now, leave them, brother, to their taste and choice ; 
You know that many so deceive themselves 
They end by thinking they can juggle God 
To take them at their own false estimate. 

B. J. And also parcel all their neighbors out 
As they decide to furnish forth the tags. 

W. S. They have their uses, doubtless, or the Lord 
Would not permit such insects to exist ; 
Let us be grateful that we are not called 
To heed their ravings, or accept their style. 
Except to see them with a pitying smile. 
Of all the virtues, give me Common Sense ; 
Of all the vices, save me from Pretence. 
How few, alas, are true and brave and free ! 



42 IN A SINGLE WORD. 

Some ruled by custom, some restrained by friends, 
By nature some too mild to disagree, 
So many actors for ulterior ends, — 
And yet we know how surely all the brood 
Pay more than dearly for their falsitude. 
To be ourselves ; true, honest, fearless men ; 
More choice and careful of our daily deeds 
Than wasting thoughts on things beyond our ken, 
However preachers may trick out their creeds ; 
To be ourselves, — ^kind, honest, fearless, true, 
Sums up sound morals and religion too. 

B. J. Long-winded Faiths I ever deemed absurd ; 
Kung-fu-tze's Rule of Practice for one's life 
Was concentrated in a single word, — 
O, would such apothegms were far more rife : 
The Eastern Sage's " Reciprocity " 
Is Statement of Belief enough for me ! 

W. S. Well, once for all, we'll change the theme again. 
My daughter, Judith, on the morrow's morn 
To Thomas Quiney will be wedded here. 
I wish you both as my especial friends 
To grace the marriage and the marriage-feast ; 
And so to-night we will retire to rest 
As soon as Cynthia shows her silver crest. 



Scene 3. — Shakespeare, on his death-bed, making his will. 

Dr. John Hall, his son-in-law; Collins, Judith Shakespeare, 

etc., etc. 

Dr. H. {tvith draft of luill). 
We'll read it, father, if you wish, once more. 

W. S. Tell me the heads — the heads will be enough. 

Dr. H. Collins and Russell are made overseers ; 
Your daughter Susan gets the greater share 
Of houses, lands, and of your whole estate. 



THE SEA-SHOBE OF BOHEMIA. 43 

W. S. But says it nothing of the strict entail ? 

Dr. H. It's all provided for in order due. 

W. S. Ah, Hamnet, Hamnet, what I lost in you ! 
And Judith's jointure? and my sister Hart? 

Dr. H. All well remembered ; also Stratford's poor. 

W. S. And Thomas Combe ? 

Dr. H. You give to him your sword. 

W. S. And mourning rings to be remembered by? 

Dr. H. Your Stratford friends receive them by your will. 

W. S. And no one else ? 

Dr. H. No others here are named. 

W. S. Then, put them down, my London comrades too. 

Dr. H. Which two then, father? 

W. S. Did I say but two? 

Well, here's a jest ! my comrades two are three ! 
Burbage and Heming and Henry Condell — rings ! 

Dr. H. Our daughter Lizzie, all your silver plate. 

W. S. Not all ; give Judith my broad silver bowl, 
[^side] Quiney may find it useful for his inn ! 

Dr. H. Your little godson William Walker gets 
A score of shillings to be paid in gold. 
Indeed you have not overlooked a soul. 
Unless it be that you neglect your wife 
And all her kin as far as I can see. 
I think it better that she should be named : 
The courts, of course, insure her of her share, 
But do not with the barest legal rights 
Disjoin the tie that has been bound so long, 
Particularly as she has been barred 
From fully sharing in your whole estate 
B}'^ special clauses in your recent deeds. 

W. S. She'll have enough to keep her preachers plied 
With claret-toddy and with sherry-sack. 



44 THE COLD BA.EE LAW. 

Judith S. But, father, think you how the public tongues 
Will wag on hearing she has been ignored ! 

W. S. She'll find her consolation in the Book. 

Mrs. Hall. Remember, father, mother's father's will ; 
He did not rest him with the cold, bare law. 

Collins. It would look better, and could do no harm, 
To make your wife an itemized bequest. 

W. S. Then put it in — suppose I say my bed, 
But not the best — the second best for her. 
With all its fixings, as she has it now, 
To be her own, forever, wheresoe'er 
In course of time she may erect it — So ! 
Insert the item : I desire to sleep. 

Collins. I notice also that you have not named 
By implication or direct review 
A single wish with ref 'rence to your Books, 
Those precious volumes that we know you prize. 

W. S. My books are mine and they shall die with me. 
Rather than have them, when I'm gone, abused, 
I have arranged and paid my Cousin Greene 
To carry out with promptitude my wish : 
To have them burned as soon as I am dead, 
And with the ashes that are left behind 
He has been charged to strew my open grave, 
That I may sleep surrounded by the world 
I most enjoyed when I was waking here. 
My own efiusions that I wish to Hve 
Have been collected, parcell'd and addressed 
With full instructions as to my desires ; 
And after ages, if my plans mature. 
Will have some puzzling mysteries to solve. 
I'll sign the Will to-morrow and till then 
I wish to rest, so leave me to myself 

Dr. H. to Collins \_Aside\. 
I fear he will not live to vex us long ! 
The strangest man that I have ever known, 
And strangest now that fever's in his brain. 

Lire 



THE SEA-SHOEE OF BOHEMIA. 45 



Collins. A most methodical, exacting man : 
I do not think that even sudden death 
At any time could snatch him unprepared. 
The sexton tells me that he has been paid 
To see the coffin of my worthy friend 
Is planted three times six feet underground ; 
And has been paid to have the biggest bell, 
When breath was gone, toll'd fifty times and two ; 
And also paid to have an eight-line verse 
Inscribed upon the stone that marks the tomb. 
Here are the words that I am told contain 
A hidden meaning which I can't explain : 

SLcrosB tfiis gtabe let no man tabe 

iSot s^afee a bcnom'i 5ptar 
JEmmortal iust once S^afeespeace's crust 

?^aB tiaittation Jere. 
jTot fietter lifltt to reaii or torite 

M&V no ont qumion tobj 
5Mi)at is conccaleli mag ht rebealeti 

Cfiree iiun^reii pears from note. 

Dr. H. As baffling truly as the wretched lines 
Of Thomas Thorpe who launched the Sonnets forth : 
Ah me, we are but puppets to the will 
Of him whose hands will soon be cold and still ! 



ACT YI. Scene 1. — Mermaid Club, London. 

Ben Jonson, M. Drayton and Lord Bacon on hearing of Shake- 
speare's death. 

Ben Jonson and Drayton conversing. 

{_Enter Bacon.] 
Bag. Sad tidings, friends, I overheard to-day : 
His final exit has our Shakespeare made ! 

B. J. It cannot be : 'tis less than three short weeks 
Since Drayton, Shakespeare and myself rejoiced 



46 IN HIS PEIME. 

In social cheer at New Place, Stratford town, 
Upon the marriage of his daughter Jude. 
I never knew him talk so fine and free 
As then he did : It cannot, must not be ! 

M. D. Why, Shakespeare yet is only in his prime ! 
What said the news? If true, it is a crime. 

Bag. There cannot, I regret to have to say 
Be any error in the grim report. 
His son-in-law and wife have come to town 
To make the statements at the proper court 
On business rising from the dead's estate, 
And I have also by his wish received 
His finished writings and his drafts and scrolls 
To be arranged as if they were mine own. 

B. J. O say not so : it cannot, must not be ! 
This is a stroke that finds my weakest spot ; 
O, do not tell me that I nevermore 
Will see my friend, my noble gentle friend ! 
Altho' in scholarship he lacked a lot 
His native spirit made such grand amend 
That all his metal was the richest ore. 
And he was good and true and kind to me ! 

M. D. We'll look for long before we see his like ; 
Untutored genius never soared so high ! 

Bac. He was the glory of our glorious age, 
Tho' not to many was the secret known. 
A perfect prodigy of wisest wit, 
A God-inspired creator matched by none ; 
A rare immortal, miracle of style ; 
Lacking, I grant you, in a few details 
That any clerk could furnish at command ; 
And after all he was so modest too ! 
I've known him now for near a score of years, 
And since the day I met him in my room 
My admiration for his worth has grown. 
His brain was fire, his stylus purest gold. 



THE SEA-SHOBE OF BOHEMIA. 47 



And with such ease he made his numbers flow 

I could but marvel at his magic art. 

For all our moods he had the proper garb, 

Had sinned, and suffered, and could sympathize ; 

A comprehensive, philosophic man, 

Whose name will live when all the rolls of kings 

Are deeply buried in oblivious dust. 

I gave him entry to my cherished books, 

For which I earned his lasting gratitude ; 

But as a reader he was less renowned 

Than as a Writer ; and an Orator 

He was without a parallel or peer. 

Like water gurgling from a crystal spring 

His balanced words would unrestricted pour : 

Withal his diffidence was so intense 

My voice he would let overtop his own 

Whene'er opinion had a chance to clash, 

And used to tell me that his greatest pride 

Was in the knowledge that as authors we 

Collaborated and were jointly due 

What name or fame or money might be earned 

From publication of his Lays and Plays. 

Small help was I except, perchance, to read 

The burning thoughts that trickled from his pen, 

And here and there some alterations hint 

That after all perhaps were best undone. 

But 'twas his wish, and as we compact made 

That should he die before my summons came 

I should receive his papers and revise 

And sift and shape them for their final stand, 

Since he is gone my loving task begins. 

In glancing thro' the packets that were sent 

I found much matter that to me was new, 

Showing with leisure and the country life 

Our Poet's pen had found a healthy vent ; 

And, grand as are the works of his we know, 

His fancy yet o'erspread a wider range, 

Some flights more terrible and more sublime — 



THE FOLIO. 



O peerless Shakespeare, greatest peer of all, 
He was no man, he was a very god, 
Inexplicable as he's unapproached. 
The deathless sun, whom nations must adore 
Till space and speech and time shall be no more ! 



Scene 2. — Gray's Inn, London. 

Ben Jonson, Loed Bacon, Heming and Condell fixing 
up the Folio. 

Hem. I saw their Lordships at the play to-day, 
And both agreed that we might dedicate 
Our full collection to their Lordships both. 

CoND. And also added it was surely time 
To treat the public to the Folio, 
As twice three years and also one on top 
Had passed since Shakespeare had been laid away. 

Bac. Now all is ready : I have read with care 
Each separate piece as from his pen it fell. 
Have made some trifling changes here and there 
In hope unfriendly critics to repel. 
For Pembroke and Montgomery, Ben will write 
The Dedicatory Polite Address, 
Claiming (the readers' favor to invite) 
Heming and Condell supervised the press. 

B. J. What else for Preface dare I risk to say ? 

Bac. You may lament our Jason's quick decease. 
And state 'twere pity that he failed to stay 
Himself to bring to light his Golden Fleece. 
Denounce the surreptitious copies sold ; 
Imperfect, lacking, and misprinted so 
By vile imposters in their greed for gold 
That cared not if they vended sense or no. 
Compare with such our version of the Plays, 
Published, each line, as in the draft it stands 



THE SEA-SHORE OF BOHEMIA. 49 

Which may be seen by those who care to gaze 

Upon the manuscripts that reached our hands. 

Inject some classical allusions too, 

Perhaps a taste of Pliny's courtly style, 

As none than you know better how to do 

Of all the writers now within our isle. 

Few readers certainly will know or care 

Where we may copy from the Prompter's book — 

And having much new matter to prepare 

For ancient errors less will likely look — : 

We'll trust you, Ben, to make a good discourse 

To start the volume down the stream of time 

With all the merits that you can endorse 

In prose as strong as is your loving rhyme. 

B. J. I'll make it specious; using all the points, 
x\nd Shakespeare's comrades they must play their parts 
As sanctioned Editors, without retreat. 

Hem. We will, and in the high assumption feel 
We thus are gaining immortality. 
I speak for both, as you can verify 
By asking Condell if he'll bear me out. 

CoND. I'm satisfied, since Jaggard has agreed 
Percentage fair he will to us concede. 

Bag. (Aside) O, sordid creatures, thus to gauge and weigh 
Their trifling interest in such a task ! 
Yet what, in fairness, can we else expect 
From Grocer Homing and from Condell, Smith — 
But let it pass, it suits perhaps the best, 
And to the future we will leave the rest. 

\^Exit Hem. and Condell.] 

B. J. My Shakespeare, now your reign will be begun. 

Bag. What shall we call him ? Prince, or King, or Czar, 
Emperor, Kaiser, Shah, or Kahn, or Cham? 
How poor, how petty, sound such titles here 
Applied to him now safely dead to live. 
And rule unhedged by either time or space ; 



50 TILL MORE MAY COME. 

Our leader, master, monarch over all. 

The eighth and greatest wonder of the world ! 

Nature but once in many aeons yields 

(And then by miracle) so rare a pen ; 

We'll see his like walk thro' our streets and fields 

When he, himself, returns — and not till then ! 



[^Curtdin.^ 



FINIS. 

Such as it is, not bare of flaw, 
Be grateful for the crumb ; 

Selection is the Writer's Law : — 
Take this till more may come 



APPENDIX, 



SHAKESPEAEE'S GLOVES. 

[Shakespeaee's gloves, well pedigreed, were presented by the Coepok- 
ATioN OF Stratford-upon-Avon to David Garrick, the famous actor, at the 
Jubilee in 1769. Garrick's widow, who died in 1822, at the great age of 
97, bequeathed the precious relics to Mrs. Siddons, who in turn left them to her 
daughter Cecilia Siddons (Mrs. Combe). From Mrs. Combe they came to her 
cousin Fanny Kemble, who presented them to Dr. H. H. Furness, the emi- 
nent Shakespearean scholar, in whose possession they stiU are. 

In Kennedy's "Annals of Aberdeen " (quoted in Knisht's Biography of 
Shakespeare) it is noted that on October 22, 1601, the freedom of Aberdeen 
City was conferred on Laurence Fletcher (' Comediane to his Majestic ') then 
with his Players on a visit to " Bon-Accord." There is a persistent tradition in 
the North of Scotland that Shakespeare was with Fletcher in Aberdeen, and 
acted there in the Weigh-house Square. " Macbeth " appeared after the sup- 
posed Scotch visit. 

Particularly interesting to the writer (a native of Aberdeen) is the fact that 
the freedom of the city, on the same day, was also conferred on his namesake 
(and possibly his ' antecessor ') James Law, whose simple name, without prefix 
or affix, occupying a line to itself, appears in the list among the Knights, Squires, 
and other gentry as " admittit Burgess." 

George Jameson, styled "The Scottish Vandyke," was a native of Aberdeen. 
He was born in 1588 and died in 1644. Arthur Johnston of Caskieben, near 
Aberdeen, was born in 1587. He is famed for his Latin verses. Painter and 
Poet, as boys, may well have been on hand at the Aberdeen City Reception and 
Ceremonies aforementioned, hence the reference to them in the lines that foUow. 

This off-hand Rime was originally addressed (June 18, 1898) to the Earl 
OF Rosebery, whose interest in Shakespeare and the Drama is only equaled 
by his affection for the language of Burns. His Lordship's prompt and flatter- 
ing response the author does not feel at liberty to quote here, contenting him- 
self with transcribing (as a matter of record) the hearty acknowledgment of 
Dr. Furness who had been furnished with a copy of the effusion as a souvenir of 
the writer's visit to Wallingford.] 

To-DAY, my Lord, at WaUingford 

Whaur Dr. Furness lives, 
Wi' pride, wi' pleasure, I record 

I glower'd on Shakespeare's glives. 



52 APPENDIX. 

Nae only e'ed them wi' my een, 

But had them on my han's, 
The very pair that aince had been 

Great Britain's greatest man's ! 
So rare a privilege to get 

Fa's to the lot of few, 
I feel my fingers tinglin' yet 

While jinglin' this to you. 
What higher honor could I hae 

Than to be hand-in-glove 
Wi' him, wha fairly hands the sway 

A' ither bards above ? 

He seemed to be so near to me 

That, frankly, I presume, 
I shouldna been surprised to see 

His wraith come ben the room. 
" Perhaps," I mused, while gazin' on 

The gauntlets, lang and lean, 
" Perhaps the Poet did them don 

In my loved Aiberdeen ! " 
Three hunner years ago, we ken, 

His " fellows " acted there, 
! And frae the city's bounty then 

He aiblins had his share. 

If Knight's surmise can be believed. 

The Playwricht surely saw 
The Freedom o' the Town received 

By Fletcher and by Law. 
Aye, Shakespeare maybe micht hae got 

Macbeth put in his min' 
By this same sprightly, granite Scot, 

My namesake o' langsyne ! 

What would we nae be glad to gi'e 

To hae a paintin' true 
Of a' the bodies, big and wee. 

There put their facin's thro' ! 
O, that among the motley crush 

George Jamesone had been, 
To gi'e us later, frae his brush, 

So picturesque a scene ! 



APPENDIX. 53 

Or Johnston, born in Caskieben, 

To limn us in a lay, 
Weel worthy o' his classic pen. 

His version o" the day ! 

Frae whaur, beside the mou' o' Dee 

Sits blythesome Bon-accord, 
How far a cry, by land and sea, 

To wooded WaUingford ! 
And from the age when " gentle Will " 

Was in his golden prime, 
Producing works unequall'd still 

How great a gulf of time ! 
Yet, lo, to-day the space was spann'd 

When Shakespeare's precious pair 
Of buckskin gloves were fondly scann'd 

By Jamie Law aince mair ! 

How strange that we, without despoil. 

Serenely up should bob 
On foreign but on friendly soil 

Again to hob and nob ! 
Exalted far above my dues, 

I feel as gin I've been 
Re-consecrated to the muse 

By favors rarely gi'en : 
For noo, henceforth, my title clear 

To bardic kinship stands. 
Since it, gin ony ane should speir. 

Comes straight from Shakespeare's hands ! 



Wallingford, Delaware Coxjnty, Penna. 
My Dear Mr. Law: The copy of your delightful verses duly reached 
me, and I have read, and re-read and re-read them with ever-increasing pleasure. 
They are charming. I think Burns himseK would have chuckled over the 
humor, appreciated the sentiment, and would have been glad to acknowledge the 
lines as his own. Can one hair's breadth be added to this towering praise ? If 
it be possible, it does not lie in the power of 

Yours very cordially, 

Horace Howard Fdrness. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

Dreams o' Hame and other Poems, 

Scottish and American. 

A handsome 12mo Vol. of over 300 pages, bound in two=colored cloth, printed from 
a new fount of old style type, on fine laid paper, with a portrait. 

From the Press of Alexander Gardner (Paisley and London), Publisher to Her Majesty the Queen. 



EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES. 

One of the best of modern Scottish Poets. — Brooklyn Citizen. 

A true singer. — Kilmarnock Standard. 

Uses with point and melody his mother tongue. — Fifeshire Journal. 

Worthily upholds the national reputation. — People's Journal. 

Possessed of a lively as well as of a patriotic muse. Full of intense Scottish- Amer- 
ican patriotism. — London Spectator. 

Elevated in tone. Always refined. — Scottish-American. 

Has a most facile pen. — Dundee Advertiser. 

We have rarely seen any better or truer piece of work. — Aberdeen Free Press. 

Has a fine swinging and ring. — Banffshire Journal. 

A master of the Scottish dialect. — Boston Herald. 

A Scottish lark has established itself in his throat. — Glasgow Herald. 

A combination of natural force, merriment, humour and patriotism. Dialect always 
racy as well as musical. — Edinburgh Scotsman. 

Written in capital Scotch. — Perthshire Constitutional. 

Reminds us more of Burns than any modern Scottish poet does. Writes purest 
Doric and displays true humour without vulgarity. — Hamilton Advertiser. 

Poetical power of a very high order. Humorous, pathetic, national, earnest. — 
Toronto Week. 

A master of the Doric ; nothing forced, all perfectly spontaneous. Most dexter- 
ous and happy in alliteration. Tender and beautiful poetry. — Brooklyn Times. 

Broad humour, fine sympathy, homely wisdom, and cheerful philosophy expressed 
in spontaneous and musical verse. Among living Scottish poets Mr. Law is entitled to 
a foremost place, and Scotland is likely to hear more concerning him. His book de- 
serves a place on every bookshelf. — Ardrossan and Saltcoats Herald. 



Only a very limited number being left over the price now is Two Dollars per copy or two copies 
for Three Dollars. Delivered to any address. 

JA.M:ES r>. LATT, Lancaster, Pa., XJ. S. A.. 



UOI 1 tbUU 



B.B,Mar,1901. 






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